A Stubborn Red Streak
by Wandergirl108
Summary: Sixth and potentially final installment in my series! Years after the events of The Red Team, Jane and Lisbon have built a life together; but Red John's friends are still out there and thirsty for revenge, and among them hides a secret that might destroy Jane's ability to let go of the past forever… NOTE: THIS STORY WILL NOT MAKE SENSE UNLESS YOU'VE READ THE PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS!
1. Chapter 1

**Once again: This story is the sixth in a series. If you have not read "REaDy or Not, Here I Come", "Bleeding Hearts", "Ruby Crown" (a crossover with Criminal Minds), "Red Dawn Light", and "The Red Team", this story will not make sense. Also remember that TV canon only goes through S4E9. Anyway, I've been wanting to write this one for ages, and it's finally here! I can't wait to reveal the twist at the end! Get hyped! XD**

* * *

A nostalgic feeling swept over Patrick Jane as he looked down from a dirt road into a ravine at police officers processing the crime scene, one that didn't fade no matter how many times he found himself in such a place. True, he was technically a PI, but low-level cops lacking in self-confidence couldn't help asking for his aid, and his one and only policy was to never say no if someone asked him for help. He was, if nothing else, a friend of the people, after all, and cops were people too.

The one who'd called him was briefing him on some basic facts that he'd picked up on at first glance while they half-walked, half-slid down the dusty slope; tuning the boring man out, Jane focused on the body: long blond hair sticky with blood from a massive head wound, a bloody rock sticking out of the ground nearby. How anyone could misunderstand what had happened here baffled him. Still, doing his duty, he carefully took in every detail. Confident that he wasn't missing anything, he was about to cut off the man who was still talking when his cell phone rang.

It was all he could do not to laugh. Right on cue.

Not even checking the caller ID, he stepped away and answered. "Don't tell me," he said by way of greeting.

"Would it kill you to say hello like a normal person?" his wife demanded.

"Why waste time?" he bantered.

Lisbon sighed. "Look…"

"Don't say it," he told her, smiling. "Honestly, why won't you just let me be the designated picker-upper? You always do this."

"I'm her mother," Lisbon said sternly; "I brought her into the world, she's my responsibility, I have to be committed to taking care of her whenever I can."

"Wouldn't it be more responsible to assign the job to the person you know will end up doing it anyway?" Jane pointed out.

"We can discuss this later," Lisbon said. "Right now-"

"Yes, don't worry, I'll pick Charlotte up from daycare," Jane cut her off.

"Thank you," Lisbon sighed with audible relief.

"Why are you always so relieved?" Jane asked with feigned offense. "Do you really think I'm going to say 'no' one of these days?"

"Hey, it's not like you don't have a job too," Lisbon said.

"Meh, not really," Jane replied; "basic cop stuff today, I'll be done here in two minutes."

"Why do you even let them call you?" Lisbon asked, though she was smiling now. "Cops and PIs aren't supposed to work together, that defeats the point!"

"They pay well."

She chuckled. "Liar."

He smiled. "I'll let you get back to work," he told her fondly.

"Thanks. Hey, um, listen…"

The break in their usual pattern brought Jane up short. "What?"

"Um…" Lisbon seemed uneasy, and Jane forgot the scene behind him, all his senses focused on his wife's voice. "So…you know how you…always get Charlie's paper, every day, to see what she's saying about you?"

 _What?_ "Yes," Jane replied, uncertain where this was going.

"Could you, um…not do that today? Just today? Please?" Lisbon asked, a note of genuine desperation in her voice.

"Lisbon, what's wrong?" Jane asked.

"Just…You don't want to see what's in the paper today, okay? Trust me."

"So there _is_ something?" he responded, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, there is, and it is serious, and I promise I'll tell you the important part as soon as I get home tonight," Lisbon said; "just please, don't read it for yourself."

"Why not?" Jane asked.

"You don't want to," Lisbon answered with certainty. "Trust me on this."

Though he said nothing, Jane couldn't help the wry grin forming on his lips.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," Lisbon snapped over the phone. "I'm telling you this for your benefit, not mine!"

"Oh, Lisbon, you know you can't say something like that and not make me curious," Jane teased.

Instead of bantering, static rattled over the line as Lisbon drew a deep breath, and again, Jane's merriment faded; clearly, she was serious. "Listen," she said in a low voice, "how many times have you asked me to trust you against my better judgment?"

"Uh, many," he replied.

"And how many times have I been glad to have done so even if I didn't want to?"

"All of them."

"That's right," Lisbon said instead of snarking at him. "This time, I'm asking you to trust me, even if you don't want to. Don't get today's paper. Please. I'm begging you, just this once, trust me."

"I do trust you," Jane told her seriously. "… _But_ …"

"You - it - You know what? Fine," Lisbon sighed resignedly. "Do whatever you want. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised.

"Fine," she sighed again. "I'll see you tonight. I love you."

"I love you too," he said, and they hung up.

"Mr. Jane?"

Jane turned to the officer who had dragged him halfway across town for a scene a toddler could have figured out. "Yes?" he asked.

"What do you think?" asked the young cop, gesturing to the body.

"Uh, I think you need to do your job," Jane told him frankly.

The man blinked. "Pardon me?"

"It's obvious what happened here," Jane said, and he gestured up the hill the way they'd come. "She slipped and fell down here, her head hit the rock, she died."

"We have concerns about it being a hate crime-"

"Oh please," Jane dismissed, waving his hand. "Why does everything have to be a hate crime these days? I guarantee you, no one in her life knows she was transgender. She came out here to a deserted stretch of road in the middle of the night where she could practice wearing women's clothing without being seen, getting a feel for it where no one could judge her. Have you ever tried walking in heels?" he asked abruptly.

"Uh, no sir."

"Yeah, me neither, but my wife says it's very difficult, and I believe her, it's certainly unnatural. So she comes here alone, tells no one where she is, practices walking in heels, gets too close to the edge, she's already off-balance, the ground gives way, and she falls. It's tragic, but there's no crime here."

"Are you _sure_?" the cop asked.

"Yes," Jane replied, "and so are you. You, my friend, need to learn to trust your own judgment. You didn't cheat on tests in school, did you?"

"…No…"

"Then why would you stoop so low as to cheat in real life?" Jane asked. "Because that's what you essentially see me as: a cheat sheet, the one with all the answers so you don't have to do any thinking of your own. Do you have any idea how many calls I get from cops just like you every week? It's really quite irksome."

"Mr. Jane, I-"

"I could have said anything about this scene and you wouldn't have questioned me," Jane went on matter-of-factly; "you're lucky I wouldn't make things up about something as serious as a tragic death."

At this, the man blanched.

"I have to pick up my daughter from daycare in an hour," Jane told him with finality. "Thank you for wasting my time. Don't worry about the fee, your only charge is to not call me again. Do your job."

Ignoring the embarrassed "Yes, sir" stammered at his back, Jane slung his coat over his shoulder and returned to his car.

~o~

With yet another of his typical thrice-weekly time-wasters taken care of, Jane drove the long route home so he could swing by the daycare on the way. All the while, his wife's request burned in his mind. He didn't have to look in her eyes to know she was dead serious about him not reading the newspaper today, and if she was that sure he didn't want to see it, then he probably didn't; on the other hand, he was an inherently curious man, and he couldn't help wondering what she was trying to shield him from. As gas station after newspaper stand passed him by, he resisted the urge to stop, again and again, but just as he approached the seventh carrier of his sister-in-law's newspaper, an idea for a prank occurred to him, and he couldn't help himself. He stopped and bought a copy, taking care not to actually look at it, and placed it in the passenger seat folded in such a way that he couldn't accidentally glimpse the front page while he drove. Though the temptation called to him for the rest of the drive, he resisted it, exercising restraint he knew Lisbon still to this day didn't realize he was perfectly capable of, just didn't feel like using most of the time.

Despite the stop, he was still a bit early to pick up his daughter, so he waited in the parking lot. It wasn't unusual for him to be early, but he never stopped being proud of himself for it; it was a reminder that he wasn't repeating the past…a past he wondered if he would ever stop thinking about despite it all. Not that his daughter's name would ever make it easy…

Eventually, the daycare program ended, and all the kids ran to the playground in back to wait for their parents. Jane waited a little while, knowing that this after-care time was when his daughter and her friends tried to fit in one last game of make-believe or whatever before they were dragged home. There was no rush, after all, he'd done his duty for the day, and he closed his eyes and listened to the muffled shrieks of children at play. As more cars drove in, he slitted his eyes back open, watching for the parents of Charlotte's friends so he wouldn't be the one to ruin their fun; when one couple finally arrived, he got out of his car and followed them back to find his daughter.

The moment he rounded the building, he spotted his daughter's long, curly, dirty-blond hair next to the big anthill in the corner of the play yard with her usual friends. He couldn't help smiling to himself; only children would find entertainment in an anthill. When the parents of one of her friends were the first to call out and interrupt whatever game they were playing, she looked up, saw him, and came running.

"Daddy!" she squealed.

"Hey, sweetie!" Jane exclaimed, getting down on one knee to catch her in a tight hug. After embracing her for a minute, he lifted her into his arms with a grunt of effort. "Ooh, you're getting big!" he commented.

"How many bad guys did you catch today, daddy?" she asked.

"Oh, no bad guys today," he told her.

She frowned. "They got away?"

"What? No, there were just no bad guys," Jane told her, smiling. "Do you think I'd ever let a bad guy get away?"

Grinning, she vigorously shook her head. "No."

"Good," he said.

"Why isn't mommy here if there are no bad guys?" Charlotte asked as he started carrying her to the car.

"Oh, you know mommy, she always finds reasons to be busy," Jane dismissed.

Charlotte giggled. "Mommy's no fun," she said.

"No," Jane agreed, grinning, "no she's not."

"Can we go to McDonald's on the way home, please, daddy?" Charlotte pleaded as he set her down.

"Oh, sweetie…"

"Pleeeeeeeeease?" Charlotte begged, clasping her hands and making puppy-dog eyes. "Please please _pleeeeeeeeeease_?"

"…Oh, all right," Jane relented, "but don't tell mommy when she gets home."

"I won't!" Charlotte promised.

~o~

The drive home was spent with Charlotte chattering about what she'd done at the daycare that day, interrupted only by her favorite Happy Meal, a cheeseburger with only ketchup and fries with a small Sprite. What she saw in McDonald's food, Jane would never understand, but he figured that at her age, when she was already such a bundle of energy, it was harmless. It was much easier to ignore the temptation to look at the newspaper when he was conversing with his daughter, and he almost forgot to pick it up and bring it inside when they got home.

Once they were in, still taking care not to actually look at it, he set it on the table by the door with the front page facing up, then turned away to hang up his coat. Barely had he taken a breath, though, before Charlotte piped up.

"Daddy, why are there two of me?"

"Two of you?" he asked, turning around. "Honey, what are-?"

He stopped short when he saw that she was holding the newspaper. There, on the front, were two photos…one of which he recognized.

"I don't remember this one…" she was saying when he lurched forward and snatched the paper out of her hands, giving her a couple of papercuts.

" _Owww_!" she cried. "Daddy!"

But he couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears as he stared at the pictures on the front page of his sister-in-law's newspaper. The one on the right was a recent picture of his and Lisbon's daughter, Charlotte; the other was much, much older, but eerily similar. From the article attached to it, a few phrases leapt out: _"…bears a striking resemblance to the late Charlotte Jane…"… "…anniversary of the tragic day approaches…"… "…anonymous source says friends of Red John…will reenact that terrible night…"_

"Daddy!" Charlotte sobbed, and she started tugging on his shirt. " _Daddy_!"

"Huh? Oh! Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry!" Jane exclaimed, snapping out of it and setting the paper aside. "What's wrong?"

"My hands!" Charlotte whined.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry," he told her, bending down and reaching out. "Here, let me have a look?"

Crying, Charlotte offered her barely-sliced palms to her father.

"I'm sorry, baby," Jane repeated. "I'm so sorry. Here, let's get you cleaned up…"

Though he felt bad, Jane was glad, as he tended his daughter's minor wound, that it had distracted her from asking more questions about the newspaper.

Lisbon had been right.


	2. Chapter 2

As per usual, Lisbon didn't get home until very late, but Jane didn't even think of trying to sleep. Now that he'd seen the article, he had to read it, and read it he did, over and over again, wondering why his past had to keep coming back to haunt him even now. In terms of solid facts, the article was sorely lacking, which only made it worse; essentially, it boiled down to the fact that Charlotte Grace Jane looked a great deal like Charlotte Anne Jane, and an 'anonymous source' claimed that, once she was the same age as her predecessor, on the anniversary of the night Red John murdered Jane's previous family, the remaining friends of Red John, who were 'rumored to still number in the hundreds', would come and attempt to recreate the event in place of their fallen master out of revenge. There was no real evidence for this besides the 'anonymous source', whom Jane's sister-in-law never elaborated on, not even in terms of gender. Mostly, the article was sensationalizing the idea, as newspapers did, and though Jane couldn't quite bring himself to fault Lisbon's sister for doing her job, the whole thing made him feel ill, especially the picture of Charlotte Anne Jane that his sister-in-law had dug up from somewhere to put on the front of her newspaper beside a picture of his living daughter.

When at last he heard his wife start up their driveway, Jane lurched to his feet and tossed the paper aside to stand at the door. Part of him wanted to act casual, like he just happened to be awake, but he knew he was too wound up to manage it this time. Instead, he ended up pacing, hyper-aware of each sound: the car door closing, footsteps coming nearer, the key in the lock.

At last, the door opened. Lisbon glanced at him, not surprised he was there, but didn't register the look on his face as she closed the door and locked it behind her. "Sorry I'm so late," she began, shrugging off her jacket. "The Murdoc case has been a-"

Not giving her time to rattle off her usual excuses, Jane stepped forward, pulled her close, and kissed her. She kissed him back, and for a moment, in her arms, he could pretend to believe everything was going to be okay. After a long minute relishing her touch, he released her and took half a step back to meet her gaze. They stared off for a few moments, not speaking; then, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"You read it."

Jane lifted his hands palms-out, as though to push back her irritation. "In my defense, I wasn't going to," he began.

"Mm-hmm," she grumbled, turning away to hang her coat on the coatrack.

"No, Lisbon, Lisbon, I wasn't!" Jane insisted, putting a hand on her arm to make her turn back and face him; once a mark of their professional life, their last names had essentially turned into their pet names for each other, and they used them now out of fondness, even though Lisbon had refused to change her last name after they got married, insisting that being referred to by something other than 'Agent Lisbon' at work would be too confusing. "I wasn't going to! All I was going to do was put the newspaper on that table _without looking at it_ , to make you _think_ I'd read it, then say I hadn't gotten around to it when you asked. That was all!"

"But you couldn't help yourself, could you," she finished.

"Yes I could!" Jane exclaimed, mildly offended. "And I almost did! But…but Charlotte saw the pictures on the front and asked about them, and…"

"Charlotte saw?" Lisbon asked sharply. "What did you tell her?"

"Oh, I, uh, I didn't need to tell her anything," Jane answered sheepishly. "I, uh…I kind of gave her a paper cut when I pulled the paper out of her hands, and - well, at least it distracted her from asking again!"

"You gave her a paper cut?!"

"It was an accident, Lisbon, I swear!" Jane told her pleadingly. "You know I wouldn't hurt her on purpose. It was just a tiny cut, she's fine, I promise!"

Lisbon took a deep, steadying breath. "I believe you," she said at last. "But you should have listened to me in the first place."

"Yes, Lisbon, you're absolutely right, I shouldn't have even bought that paper for a prank," Jane responded readily. "I would much rather have heard about it from you, and I'm sorry I tried to make a game out of it."

"Apology accepted," Lisbon stated.

There was silence for a minute.

"Well…at least I don't have to go over it with you," Lisbon said at last.

"Uh, no, that wouldn't be necessary," Jane agreed.

She nodded again, then looked up at him with softened eyes. "Jane, I'm sorry," she told him.

His brow creased. "For what?"

"For the name," Lisbon replied. She shook her head. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have told you about that stupid promise I made with my sister-"

"No, Lisbon, don't do that," Jane said firmly. "You made a promise, and there was no way you could have known what it would mean at the time, it's okay. Besides, even if we'd named her something else, she would still have the same face, and the same birthday-"

"So it is the same birthday?!" Lisbon gasped. "I read that, but I didn't…it's not…How is that even possible?"

"Lisbon, there are billions of people in the world, and only three hundred and sixty-five days in a year," Jane told her indulgently. "Literally every single day is the birthday of tens of millions of people."

"Still," Lisbon said, "on top of everything else…"

"Stranger things have happened," Jane pointed out.

"Can't argue with that one." She took a breath, then looked at him again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?" Jane repeated. "Why should I have told you? What would have been the point? What good would have come of burdening you with that knowledge? You didn't choose what day you gave birth, it would only have ruined Charlotte's birthday for you every year."

"Like it did you?" Lisbon asked pointedly.

Jane wobbled his head in a noncommittal gesture.

"Jane, I'm your wife," Lisbon said, stepping forward and taking his hand. "We're a team. Even before we got married, whatever life threw at us, we were always in it together." Gripping tightly, she emphasized, "You don't have to bear your burdens alone, okay? You should have told me. I'm here for you, just as you're here for me."

"I appreciate that," Jane said softly. "I just…didn't want to cause you undue pain."

"And _I_ appreciate _that_ ," Lisbon conceded. "You still should have told me."

"Well…you know now," Jane responded.

"Yeah," Lisbon said with an empty laugh. "The question now is, what are we going to do?"

"Well, I mean, we can't exactly change her birthday-"

"I mean about the threat," Lisbon cut him off, releasing his hand as her eyes hardened seriously.

"Oh, right, that," Jane said. "Uh…I don't know. Well, what do you think we should do, Lisbon? Should we take it seriously? You've spent time with these people, you know them, what do you think?"

"Honestly?" Lisbon asked in response. "I'd be willing to bet Charlie's 'anonymous source' is one of them. Either because they wanted to taunt us, or…maybe one of them feels bad and wanted to give us a fighting chance."

"Would they feel bad?" Jane asked.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Kristina might?"

"Oh yeah, Kristina," he said. "I forgot about her."

Lisbon crossed her arms. "The hell you did."

"So anyway, you're saying we should definitely take this seriously?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied with certainty. "Knowing them, this is something they would absolutely do. I'd be much more surprised if nothing happens when the time comes."

There was a pause, as this sank in.

"…So what do we do?" he finally asked. "How do we stop them?"

She closed her eyes, her arms falling to her sides. "I don't know," she replied in a hollow voice. "I don't know…"

"Do we even know how many there are? 'Rumored to still number in the hundreds'…" he muttered.

"Hey, give Charlie a break," Lisbon told him; "the only reason she even knows that much is because _I_ know that much, and she's still not going to tell anyone that story even though it's her job because you asked her not to."

"I'm glad your sister prioritizes some amount of your privacy over her job," Jane said in a tone that could have been sarcastic but was impossible to interpret for sure.

"As for how many…" Lisbon hesitated, then said slowly, "Four hundred people died the night of Red John's execution. Fifty of them were women who committed suicide. Red John had fifty zombies, those were probably them. The names of everyone else who was murdered were on lists the women had with them…and they weren't witnesses or jurors, so…maybe they were friends of Red John you managed to convince of his true nature."

"Only that many, though?" Jane asked. "Out of more than a thousand?"

"Hey, having tried to convince them of the truth myself, I'd be impressed if you managed to convince even half that many," Lisbon told him. "They're completely blind, Jane, they believe in Red John beyond to a fault, there is no reasoning with them. Believing those murders were the group rooting out traitors is a stretch, but it's probably the best we can hope for."

"That would still put their numbers over eight hundred," Jane pointed out.

"Yeah." Lisbon's face fell. "Yeah, it would. And that's the best-case scenario."

Again, silence fell as they both mulled this over. When no simple answer presented itself, Jane sighed.

"Lisbon, it's late," he said. "We still have a few weeks to figure this out, and whatever we decided to do, we won't do tonight. Come to bed, and get some rest."

"Uh-huh," Lisbon smirked as she headed for the stairs; Jane followed. "'Rest'."

"Hey, if you want to-"

"Oh, hush."


	3. Chapter 3

**I want to apologize for the previous chapter, I know it was dumb. Really, the story could have gone without it, but I wanted to show Jane and Lisbon interacting more before the big event. In particular, let me address the birthday thing: I know. I know, I know, I know. There is kind of a reason for it happening that way, but the main reason I decided to go with it was to give Lisbon a reason to make that "We're in it together" speech - without that, I was worried the conversation might make it seem like their relationship was on the rocks, which it very much is not. Also, I freely admit that it might have been a copout on my part: "Should they attack when Charlotte Grace is the same age as Charlotte Anne to the day, or on the anniversary of the day Red John killed Charlotte Anne? Ah, screw it, I'll just make it both." For what it's worth, the birthday thing will never be brought up again, and also, as a commenter on the previous installment pointed out, my series has been nothing if not full of very extreme and highly unlikely situations, and there will be more; please take it as one of those, and bear with me.**

 **Speaking of which, *****READ THIS*****: Some people have been posting reviews that make it clear they have not read the previous installments in this series. THIS STORY WILL NOT MAKE SENSE IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS, I cannot make that clearer. In particular, comments about Lisbon having a sister are not valid if you haven't read the previous installments. Please read stories in order. Thank you.**

 **Also, for anyone who HAS read the previous installments but might still be wondering: Jane readily agreed to name his new daughter Charlotte when Lisbon told him about the promise she made; if anything, SHE was the one who needed convincing. Why would he do this? Because he is utterly determined to leave the past in the past, as determined as he was to bring Red John down before, and he agreed to the name as a way of sort of challenging himself to stick with it - after all, if the past doesn't matter, there's no reason NOT to name her Charlotte, is there? You might still say that's out of character for him, but we've all seen how Patrick Jane gets when he's thoroughly determined to do something, logic and reason go out the window in the face of his stubbornness. I can relate.**

 **Moving on…**

* * *

Grace Van Pelt sat at her desk, trying hard to focus on her job and failing. By now, the threat against Patrick Jane's family was a statewide sensation, there was no one who didn't know, and the knowledge that she could help weighed heavily on her.

But how to say it without breaking her deal with Bertram?

"Van Pelt," came her boss's voice, snapping her out of her mental debate. She looked up. "Any luck tracking down Jack Fisher?"

"No, Boss, still looking," Van Pelt replied.

"Alright. Keep me posted."

Van Pelt nodded, internally warring with herself. Before Lisbon left the room, she blurted, "Hey, Boss?"

Lisbon stopped and turned back. "Yeah?"

"Um…" Van Pelt stood, nervous but certain that she couldn't keep her silence. "Can I…talk to you? In private?"

"…Sure…" Lisbon said slowly, and gestured for her to follow.

In Lisbon's office, Van Pelt's boss asked, "What's this about?"

"It's about…um…" Van Pelt gestured awkwardly. "…you know…the thing?"

Lisbon raised her eyebrows.

"…You know…with Red John's friends," Van Pelt managed at last.

"Oh, that," Lisbon said, nodding. "Listen-"

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" Van Pelt asked in a rush. "What you're up against? Anything?"

"I appreciate your concern, but it's not something you need to worry about," Lisbon told her diplomatically. "We're working on it."

"I could get information for you," Van Pelt said.

Lisbon blinked. "How so?"

"I…know a guy…" Van Pelt replied evasively.

"You know one of Red John's friends?" Lisbon asked.

"I didn't say that!" Van Pelt answered quickly.

They stared off for a moment; it was all Van Pelt could do to not fidget under her boss's gaze. Then, slowly, Lisbon smiled.

"Let me guess," she said; "they told you that if you tell anyone about their allegiance to Red John, they'll tell management about you and Agent Rigsby."

This brought Van Pelt up short. "Jane told you?"

"Hey, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me," Lisbon stated. "I knew. I saw no reason to bring it up because it didn't have any impact on your ability to do your job."

"But…I…"

"Van Pelt, rules exist for a reason," Lisbon sighed, "and if Jane has taught me anything, it's that if the reason isn't valid, the rule shouldn't be valid either. The reason workplace romances are forbidden is because there is concern that it would have a negative impact on your ability to do your jobs to the best of your abilities. You and Agent Rigsby have done an impressive job of keeping your personal and professional lives separate, I have seen no impact on your work ethic, and you didn't force me to acknowledge it, so I let it slide." She hesitated, then added, "But, I doubt anyone above me would see it that way, because rules are rules. If someone is holding that over your head, I completely understand you wanting to keep their secret, and I wouldn't ask you to do otherwise."

"But maybe I can get information for you," Van Pelt said, deciding to set aside the issue of her relationship with Rigsby for now. "May I?"

Her boss thought it over. "If you can get information without putting yourself in jeopardy," Lisbon finally said slowly, "then…yes, that would be appreciated."

Van Pelt didn't need any more. "I'm on it," she said, and strode out of the room.

~o~

Part of her hoped Director Bertram would be somewhere other than his office when she rounded the corner, but there he was, sat at his desk doing paperwork. She took a deep, steadying breath, then put on her cop face and opened the door. "Director Bertram."

Bertram looked up. "Agent Van Pelt," he greeted, sitting back. "What can I do for you?"

"I think you know," Van Pelt replied coldly.

He chuckled. "You're going to have to be more specific."

Van Pelt crossed her arms. "What's going to happen to Jane's family?"

"Ah." Bertram smiled and tapped his pen on the desk. "Agent, I thought we had an agreement-"

"That agreement is null and void if you're about to kill my boss and her child," Grace snapped. Then she smirked and added, "Besides, think of the state of the city right now. Everyone's on a witch hunt for Red John's friends, hoping that they might be able to do their part to help the great Patrick Jane. If I told everyone you're one of Red John's friends, they'd tear you apart in seconds. Do you really think anyone would listen to a single word you had to say?"

The pen stopped, and Bertram frowned. Leaning forward, he asked, "Are you willing to take that risk?"

An hour ago, Van Pelt hadn't been sure, but the knew knowledge of what sort of boss - and friend - Teresa Lisbon was had banished her doubts. "Yes," she replied.

"…I see." He sighed and sat back again. "What do you want from me? I assume you want something, or you'd already be telling the world."

"What's are you going to do?" Van Pelt demanded. "Is the threat real, and if so, what are you all planning on doing?"

"And if I tell you, you won't turn me in?"

"We'll see."

Bertram paused, apparently weighing his options, then spoke. "Yes, the threat is real," he began. "Dove told us years ago that when the opportunity for revenge arose, we'd recognize it, and, well, you can't get much clearer than what we've been given. It's kind of spooky, isn't it, all the things about the new Jane kid? So we're going to. Individually, we might not be much compared to RJ's demon, but working together, we can do what he did."

"And you'll all be working together?" Van Pelt pressed. "All of you?"

"Of course!" Bertram exclaimed. "No one loyal to RJ would miss this for the world!"

Her blood ran cold. "How many of you are there?"

A chilling smile crossed Bertram's face. "A little over eight hundred," he replied. "All of us, converging on the Jane household at once? There's no way they'll be able to fight us all off."

"So you'll just get in a gunfight, ready to die?" Van Pelt asked.

"A gunfight?" Bertram repeated. "No, no, RJ didn't kill Jane's family with a gun, why should we? We're going in with knives. It's only right."

"Only _right_?!" Van Pelt cried. "You're really going to commit murder - kill your _own agent_ \- over this?!"

"It is…unfortunate…that Agent Lisbon happens to be the…woman, in this situation," Bertram conceded. "But, she chose the Fool. You know, it's actually kind of poetic that it's her - RJ loved Agent Lisbon, and once he finished his great work and saved the world, she would have been his queen. Instead she took him down and married an idiot. That's on her head."

"Great work?" Van Pelt repeated. "Director, with all due respect, how can you possibly believe that? Red John was a monster, and the world is a much better place without him. He wasn't going to save the world, he wasn't in a symbiotic relationship with a demon, he was just evil!"

"I understand why you think that, but you only saw that side of him," Bertram said. His tone darkened as he added, "That's the only side of him most people saw. RJ could have been a hero, he could have saved everyone; instead, due to Patrick Jane's selfish, narrow-minded actions, he will only ever be remembered for the monster he lived with and hated as much as everyone else does. His name is forever tarnished, and all the good he could have done will never happen. That. Can. Not. Go. Unpunished."

Van Pelt shook her head. "I'm not going to argue the point, Lisbon says there's no reasoning with you people," she said. "Instead, give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you in."

"Because it won't do any good," Bertram replied readily. "Agent, I am one of over eight hundred people, a drop in a bucket. Getting me out of the picture won't help them at all. And nothing you say can convince me to give up the names of any of my compatriots, so don't even bother going there. I've told you what I know in good faith, now keep your end of the deal."

For a long, tense moment, Van Pelt glared icy daggers at the director of the CBI. Then, with nothing more but a grunt of disgust, she turned and left.

~o~

"Eight hundred people," Lisbon repeated softly.

They were in Lisbon's office, and Van Pelt had just finished passing on everything she'd managed to learn, without mentioning her informant's identity.

"Yes, ma'am," Van Pelt replied, "all ready to die for a chance to kill you and your daughter."

"With knives," Lisbon said, more to herself than her agent. "Well, it could be worse. We could have over eleven hundred people coming at us with guns."

The morbid joke wasn't worth even a chuckle.

"Thank you," Lisbon told Van Pelt after a moment. "We know a lot more than we would have without your help."

"Will it be enough?" Van Pelt asked. "Is there something more I could do? Something more the team could do?"

"I'll talk it over with Jane," Lisbon said. "We still have time to make a plan." She sighed. "For now, get back to work on the Murdoc case. Red John's friends aside, we have a job to do."

"Yes, Boss," Van Pelt said, and she left.

Lisbon watched her go, almost wistfully. The young agent reminded her of her when she had been starting out - a hard worker, eager to impress, determined and even ruthless at times but never losing sight of her humanity. Van Pelt's only real problem was that she got a bit flustered around people with more power than her, but that was getting better every day; overall, she was an exemplary agent. The main reason Lisbon hadn't moved to grant her a promotion yet was that she still had more to learn, but maybe the fact that she would be impossible to replace was influencing that decision too.

 _If I'm still alive a month from now, I'll see about getting her moved up,_ Lisbon decided. _She's earned it._

Filing away the information her agent had obtained for when she met with her husband that night, Lisbon refocused on her work. And maybe, just maybe, she was glad for a reason to not think about what Jane was going to say to all of this.


End file.
